The Lieutenant's Secret
by At Least I Didn't Fake It
Summary: In 1940, Howard Stark meets a young scientist named Wilma Barnes on the streets of Brooklyn. He thinks she's Hydra. She just wants the chance to meet Dr. Abraham Erskine. Howard Stark/OFC, Peggy/Steve, implied Bucky/Steve feelings. First in (hopefully) a series.
1. 1

**Hey! so I haven't written in a looooong time, and I've never written for the MCU (only for x-men, basically). Disclaimer: I do not own anything except my oc. Constructive criticism appreciated and welcomed, as long as it's actually constructive. This series is a slow burn steve/oc, but as far as the events of the first avenger, it's basically completely howard stark/oc. hope y'all enjoy!**

* * *

 _Prologue_

 **Stark Tower, June 1994**

There were three things Anthony Edward Stark knew to be absolutely true about his late father. First, that he was a shitty parent whose emotional constipation ruined his relationship with his son. Second, that he was a celebrated war hero who had worked with people like Peggy Carter and Captain America. Howard had made Captain America's iconic shield, worked with Dr. Abraham Erskine on the Super Soldier serum, and, most controversially, was a part of the Manhattan Project. A war hero by most counts, even if he did, you know, help develop nuclear weapons.

And finally, Tony knew for a fact that before he had met Maria Collins Carbonell in 1956, Howard Stark had been a rich, genius, womanizing playboy who flirted incessantly with anything in a skirt. (Only one foolish employee had ever dared to point out the similarities. Needless to say, the poor woman found herself out of a job within the hour.)

But that was beside the point. Tony stared at the old, wooden box in his lap. After the car accident, he had gone through his mother's things first because of the affection he held for her. And if in doing so he was postponing the inevitable confirmation of Howard's disgust for his only child, well, that was simply coincidence.

But now, two and a half years after the death of his parents, Anthony Edward Stark was finally forced to face his father's memory. So here he was, sitting amidst the dust in his father's untouched study, holding an old wooden box that he'd discovered under a false back in the drawer. Gingerly, Tony opened it and pulled out the parchment on top.

It was a letter, brittle and yellowing with age. Tony unfolded it, and something fell out, fluttering to the floor. Brow furrowed, the young genius picked it up.

It was a series of old, black-and-white pictures, clipped together and faded with time. Tony examined the first one. His father stood with his Aunt Peggy in front of an aeroplane, both smiling. His Aunt Peggy was staring a little bit left of the camera, and sources claimed she was looking at Captain America. His father's head was turned to the right, mid conversation. The picture itself was famous, but the commercial version had been obviously cropped at Howard's shoulder. In this, presumably the original, another man was on his father's right side, with light hair and laughing eyes that were looking directly at the camera. The strange thing about this was that Howard was holding this man's hand, their fingers interlocked.

Tony frowned. His father, despite his various flaws, had never been homophobic—he'd been a vocal advocate for AIDS awareness during his final years—but Howard Stark himself was just about as straight as could be. Something was off here. He glanced at the back of the picture. In a foreign, loopy script, it read,

 _1944 - Peggy, Howard, and Billy in Paris, post liberation. Photograph taken by Bucky Barnes._

Tony's brows furrowed further. Billy? Not the mysterious Lieutenant Billy Hubbard, who had been integral to the war effort but had disappeared shortly after helping to start SHIELD? His father had never mentioned knowing Billy Hubbard as more than a colleague in any interviews, but it was clear from this photograph that they were far closer than mere acquaintances. Quickly, Tony moved on, his mind racing.

The next picture was perhaps more baffling, and certainly far creepier than before. It was the portrait of a young woman who wasn't Tony's mother, smiling straight at the camera in a way that conveyed both boundless joy and immeasurable sorrow. She had dark hair that curled wildly—not the popular glamorous curls of the 1940's, but frizzy, don't-care curls that framed her face. She had on long pants and a mens' shirt that was far too large for her. Behind her was what Tony recognized as a chemistry lab. This photograph had no caption, he noticed with frustration, and so he moved on to the letter.

 _28 October 1947_

 _My dearest Howie,_

 _My, you've gained quite the reputation as a doll dizzy fellow, haven't you? I know we agreed to keep our marriage quiet, but you really did all you could to keep this poor broad out of the spotlight. Really, darling, thank you for protecting the truth about Billy Hubbard. The part of me that is him thanks you, even if I am outrageously sore._

 _Not to worry, Howie, I'm only yanking your chain. I know we agreed on this. You bring the dames home, give 'em the Stark Special Bracelet (lovely name, by the way, I couldn't help but laugh when Jarvis wrote and told me), and tell 'em to act as if you spent a wonderful night with them. I trust you, my love, to keep your vows._

 _On to business, then. I have been somewhat successful in my recreation of the Super Soldier serum—and I say only somewhat because I'm hesitant to test it out on someone even though I'm confident it is exactly like the original. I've destroyed the work Dr. Erskine and I did on it, because if it falls into the hands of some fat-head in cahoots with what remains of HYDRA, we're done for._

 _Speaking of HYDRA, you wrote me that you've asked Arnim Zola to join SHIELD. Dearest, you're absolutely brilliant when it comes to machines, but I do think you've quite lost it with this one. Zola's bad news, and you know it! I can't believe you, Peggy, and Colonel Phillips let him in without even consulting me. I don't trust that man as far as I can throw him. And don't you dare accuse me of blowing a fuse irrationally! You know quite well the atrocities he's responsible for—not to mention what he did to my brother. You're lucky I didn't write the minute I found out. I've had months to calm down, very long months of pondering and imagining what my brother would say, or what Steve would say. Neither of them would approve, and to be frank, I can't say I do either. I love you, Howie, but I cannot forgive you for this._

 _But I have learned too well the meaning of mortality, and I know Bucky and Steve would want me to move past this, and so I am trying. I see their shadows at night, advising me to live my life fully, for them._

 _My work here is almost complete; you can expect me home for Christmas. I can't wait to see my mother and sisters again, and Jarvis, and Peggy, and you, of course._

 _Love always, despite my current anger,_

 _Your Wilma_

 _P.S. Enclosed are two photographs I thought you would like. The first, if you recall, is from after Paris was liberated. Peggy's making eyes at Steve, and he was staring right back. The second is of me, from earlier this month, and goodness, I look like a woman again! I figured you might like to see what your wife looks like when she isn't pretending to be a man._

 _Yours,_

 _Wilma Barnes (Stark)_

Tony stared disbelievingly at the old letter in front of him. Slowly, mechanically, the twenty four year old lifted his head and called into the hallway, his voice shaking.

"Jarvis?"

The old butler walked stiffly inside, his gait revealing his age. When he saw the box Tony held in his hands, his face fell, and sorrow wrote itself over his features. Tony looked at his beloved father figure, face pale, hands trembling slightly.

"Jarvis, who was Wilma Barnes?"


	2. 2

_Brooklyn, April 1940_

When Howard Stark first met Wilma Barnes, she was only eighteen years old. He was struck by that, not as a twenty-two year old heterosexual man, but as a mechanical engineer who was intrigued by but not necessarily proficient in biochemistry.

(Of course, the second thing he noticed was how lovely she was. Oh, she wasn't extraordinary in her looks, but her large, expressive blue-green eyes captured his attention as they sparkled. He found himself quite attracted to her, because she was still beautiful with her rounded face and her zits and thick eyebrows. Really, truly beautiful).

Wilma, who had dark hair that tumbled passionately to her shoulders, was gesturing wildly in her excitement, her face bright and joyful as she chattered to a younger girl of maybe thirteen years of age. The two of them walked down the street in front of him. The little girl (presumably the sister of the elder, with the same dark hair) was wearing school clothes, and the older girl was dressed sharply in a practical skirt and blouse. Howard had, naturally, been listening in on their conversation.

" —And five years ago, a scientist named William Cumming Rose discovered a twentieth, which he named threonine. It's one of the nine that humans cannot synthesize from scratch, and that means we have a limited amount already in us. But golly, Georgie, imagine if we could! Something as simple as increased capacity for amino acids—"

"Will," said the younger girl, looking incredibly bored, "I asked you to explain what a cell was. I don't know anything about amimo— animo—" Georgie frowned, struggling for the words.

"Amino acids," the older girl, 'Will,' explained patiently.

"Those." Georgie rolled her eyes. "C'mon, Will, are those ever going to help you in real life?"

'Will' opened her mouth obstinately, but Howard figured that was as good a time as any to jump in.

"Actually," he said, causing both girls to whirl around in surprise, "Science is going to help us all in real life, not just her."

Georgie's jaw fell open, but her sister just scowled.

"Excuse me, mister, but we were having a private conversation, and I don't suppose you could mind your own business?" She said sharply.

Howard was taken aback. He'd met some standoffish women before, but rarely did they dare speak so frankly and plainly, especially to a strange man. Then again, he thought darkly, perhaps women did always speak so sternly to young, strong men they didn't know. He wouldn't quite fault them for caution or suspicion.

"Sorry," he said, though he really wasn't all that sorry for eavesdropping. The woman just nodded once, and then turned away, resuming her walk with her sister.

"Will," the thirteen year old hissed, glancing back at Howard, who now had the good sense to pretend he wasn't listening, "Do you know who that was?"

"No," Will replied, "And I don't care to."

Georgie tugged insistently at her sister's sleeve, forcing the older girl to stop.

" _What,_ Georgie?"

"Will, that's Howard Stark!"

Howard Stark had to bite back a smug grin as the young woman's shoulders straightened with recognition. He couldn't see her face, but he could imagine the expressions flitting across her features. Perhaps she was embarrassed now, or shy, or admiring, or—

"Excuse me, Mr. Stark?"

 _Ah._ There it was. Howard had to hide his smirk as the young woman turned back to him. Her harsh tone had become soft and coy, and she smiled at him. He cleared his throat and acted as if he'd needed to force interest.

"Yes, Miss…?"

"Barnes," she introduced herself, holding her hand out to shake. He clasped it. Her hand wasn't soft, but rough and strong, like she was used to working hard. "Wilhelmina Barnes."

"Miss Barnes," he repeated.

"Please, call me Wilma," she said, brushing an errant curl behind her ear. "Mr. Stark, I hope I'm not overstepping my bounds."

"After that first impression you left me?" Howard joked. "I believe we're beyond formalities, Wilma. Call me Howard."

Wilma's mouth curved up in a smile. "Sure thing, Howard. Just so long as we're beyond formalities, I'd like to advise you not to make a habit of following women just to listen to their conversations. I fear I'm not the only woman who finds that….disconcerting."

Howard felt his ears redden. "Noted," he said, coughing in embarrassment. "I wasn't exactly trying to…"

"Oh, I know." Wilma's tone was friendly, putting Howard at ease. "I was wondering if I could ask you a question."

"Anything," Howard said grandly. Wilma glanced furtively around, which only served to amuse him. Women, he thought somewhat condescendingly, always making a fuss when there was no fuss to be had.

"Georgie," Wilma said, "Cover your ears."

Howard felt his eyebrows jump high on his forehead. She was quite forward, wasn't she, this one? And in front of her young sister, no less?

Georgie, for her part, seemed intrigued. "Why can't I hear?" She whined. Her eyes glinted with mischief. "What exactly are you going to say?"

"Georgina Louise…" Wilma said in a warning tone, and grumbling, Georgie covered her ears.

Wilma turned back to Howard, eyes shining with barely concealed excitement. Howard couldn't help but smile. She was a little young, and he had no real intention of doing anything beyond whispering some pretty words in her ear and perhaps seeing just how much she knew about amino acids, but he couldn't deny that her expressive gaze was quite sweet.

"Mr. Stark…"

"Howard," he corrected.

"Howard," she echoed, smiling. She glanced around again, as if making sure nobody was listening. "I have a theory."

"Oh?" Howard raised his eyebrows in interest.

"Howard, do you by any chance happen to know a Dr. Erskine?" Wilma breathed, so quietly that for a fleeting instant Howard thought he'd imagined it.

But he hadn't.

That was when he realized that for better or for worse, Wilma Barnes was going to be more than a passing specter in his life.

* * *

 **ahhhh wow i'm so upset with myself for leaving this alone for so long!**

 **steve and bucky coming soon... idk if i've gotten howard's character down, but hey, i'm trying.**

 **constructive criticism always appreciated! thank you all so much for reading!**

 **(ps: i'm gonna see endgame tomorrow and i'm so scared/excited/etc i have some THEORIES but like who knows? ahhh)**


	3. 3

Wilhelmina Barnes was the third of four children born to George Barnes and Winifred Hubbard Barnes, who immigrated to the United States some five years before their eldest child was born. George, who'd stylized his Romanian Gheorghe to a more subtle form of his name, found factory work quite quickly in the city, and Winifred, whose father was English and mother was German, became a low-paid typist for a local store. As they'd settled into Brooklyn, they swiftly discovered the growing anti-immigrant sentiment in the city to prove quite the problem. Their Jewish roots certainly did little to endear them to xenophobic nationalists, but they nevertheless made the best of their situation, moving into a multicultural neighborhood of people that shared their inclusive values and raising their children as best they could.

They named their only son James Buchanan, after the President of the United States. It was perhaps a bit of an oversight on their part, for as far as presidents went, James Buchanan was a rather weak one, to be faulted for his stance on slavery. When James first realized that he'd been named for one of the worst presidents in American history, he'd pouted and raged and demanded his parents name his siblings better.

The Barnes learned from their mistake, and so named their second child, their eldest daughter, Rebecca, which was innocuous enough a name (ignoring, of course, the anti-Semitic assholes who had a problem with the origins of her name being Hebrew). Rebecca, who was a little over two years younger than James, was the one who dubbed him Bucky, because 'Buchanan' was far too difficult for her to say at a young age.

Their second daughter was born in 1922, five years after her brother and three after her sister. Wilhelmina was another misstep, because the invocation of a German name so shortly after the Great War ended raised some eyebrows, and the Barnes found themselves receiving cold treatment from overzealous patriots (read: nationalists) who wanted nothing to do with Germans, much less those of the Jewish faith. Still, their neighborhood and community embraced them with open arms, and Wilhelmina and her older siblings grew up playing with the other children, Jewish and Italian and Irish and black and Catholic all laughing and loving and struggling together.

(Of course, the story of multiculturalism is far more complex, and this sort of cohesion did not necessarily hold true everywhere, but as far as the Barnes children and their friends were concerned, more united them than divided them).

When Bucky was nine years old, Rebecca seven, and Wilma four, Winifred became pregnant once more. The family was overjoyed, if not a little worried. They would soon have one more mouth to feed, and they had to find another way to make ends meet. They would manage somehow, George reassured Winifred, even if that meant money was a little tight for a while.

But what they hadn't realized was that little Wilma had powers none of them knew of.

One day, in a tantrum fit for the toddler she was, Wilma beat her little fists against the floor. Flames erupted where her hands had been, and soon the entire structure of the house was on fire. Winifred dragged Bucky and Wilma outside the burning home while George ran in to save Rebecca.

Rebecca made it out. George did not.

Winifred named the baby girl Georgiana in his honor.

It was this incident that shaped the course of Wilma Barnes' life. Even at that young age, Wilma knew the fire was her fault. Oh, her family never once blamed her, even if they were afraid of her powers and her temper, but she knew she was responsible. By the time she was ten years old, she vowed to find out what it was that made her so different from the rest of her family. This, of course, led to her passion for biochemistry in her teen years, so desperate was she to figure out why she could control fire.

(That was a mystery she never solved. The discovery of the X-gene happened in 1952, years after she disappeared. She never knew that she was a mutant, though her sisters Rebecca and Georgiana realized she must have been.)

Sarah Rogers, who lived a few streets down from them and whose young son Steve was Bucky's closest playmate, offered to help out in any way she could, and Winifred tearfully accepted her offer. The Barnes family moved closer to Sarah and Steve, and started anew there.

For as long as she could remember, Wilhelmina Barnes had found immense joy in irritating her elder brother James. Of the four Barnes children, the two of them argued the most, always bickering over what to eat for dinner or fighting over whose turn it was to pick out music. To Bucky, Wilma was a mild irritation, like a fly buzzing about just a foot away. To Wilma, Bucky was maddeningly patronizing in the early days of their childhood. To Winifred, Rebecca, Georgiana, and Steve Rogers, the two siblings were exasperating, for most of their squabbles were loud and disruptive, despite a five year difference in their ages.

They had grown out of their constant fighting a few years before, when Wilma was maybe fourteen or fifteen. Still, they were siblings at the end of the day, and even though Wilma was now eighteen and Bucky twenty-three, there were moments when they brought out the childishness in each other.

(To be completely fair, Wilma mused, this time it was Georgie's fault).

When they'd come home the day she'd met Howard Stark, Georgie was bouncing with excitement and had immediately run off to Rebecca's room to tell her the news. At twenty years old, Rebecca was a schoolteacher, but she still hadn't had her own bed until Bucky moved out and she left her shared room with Wilma and Georgie to take his empty room.

So Georgie banged on the door until Rebecca let her in. Wilma had simply rolled her eyes at her younger sister, who seemed to see romance in any interaction between members of the opposite sex, and opened a book on complex chemical equations. Absently, she wondered how Georgie would react when she finally noticed the tension between Steve and Bucky. Rebecca and she had already had a few whispered conversations on the subject late at night, and the sisters agreed that their love for their brother was worth more to them than the nature of his relationships. Georgie was still quite young, but Wilma suspected she'd agree when she figured it out.

She had quite forgotten about her encounter with Howard Stark until that night, when Georgie failed to keep her trap shut.

They were all sitting about the dinner table — at the head was their Ma, who'd taken the place after George passed. To her left was Rebecca, then Georgie. Wilma sat at the opposite end of the table. Bucky had moved out the year before to a small apartment just down the road, but he came around for dinner every night, Steve in tow. The smaller man had become a near-permanent fixture in the Barnes' residence in the evenings once his mother had passed, some five years before, and it went without saying that he was just as much a part of the family as anyone else.

"How's work going, Bucky?" Rebecca asked. Bucky had gotten a job working construction a little while back, and though he didn't seem to love it, it paid well despite the Depression.

"Slow going," Bucky said through a bite of chicken, "But it ain't too bad."

"It _isn't_ too bad," their Ma corrected gently. All her children rolled their eyes. Winifred ignored them, getting up and serving Steve some more soup. Bucky had mentioned that Steve had a bit of a nasty cough the night before, despite his best friend's chagrin, and Winifred cooked accordingly.

"Sorry, Ma," Bucky said, though he didn't sound too sorry. "So what have I missed around here in the last day?"

"Well," said Georgie, her eyes glinting with excitement, "Wilma's got a fella running after her!"

Wilma's eyes widened and she dropped her fork in surprise. It landed on her plate with a loud CLANG. She felt her face warm, but she couldn't understand why— it wasn't as though she was interested in Howard Stark! It wasn't as though he was _really_ interested in her! She'd just asked him about Dr. Abraham Erskine, a personal idol of hers, and he'd answered her questions with barely concealed bemusement.

She glanced up furtively. Both her sisters were smiling mischievously, and she noticed with indignation that Rebecca was surreptitiously giving Georgie a thumbs up. Her Ma had her eyebrows raised in disbelief, and Bucky was looking at her in barely concealed amusement. Only Steve, dear, sweet Steve, wasn't making a huge commotion in some way or another. Instead, he offered her a sympathetic smile as the interrogation started.

"Is it true, Wilma?" Winifred asked, setting down her fork. She sounded quite skeptical, and while Wilma was slightly insulted by the dubious note in her Ma's voice, she rather understood. She had never shown an interest in anyone before, and had been the butt of many spinster jokes from her family. It would certainly have been quite out of character for her to suddenly be mooning over a man she'd met in the street. But that was irrelevant, a moot point. She had no interest in Howard Stark to begin with.

"No, of course not!" Wilma protested, glaring daggers at her little sister. "I just met him today!"

"So there _is_ a fellow!" Rebecca said triumphantly.

"No there isn't!" Wilma said defensively. Honestly, she didn't see how she could be all dizzy over a guy after just one meeting, and certainly not over a guy like Howard Stark, who was far less swanky than he thought he was. "It was one conversation about a common interest! Georgie just doesn't know what she's talking about!"

"Hey!" Georgiana said.

"Aw, come on Will, we're just teasin'." Bucky said. His eyes glinted with good humor. "It ain't every day that your kid sister picks up her first sweetheart." He couldn't even finish the sentence without breaking into loud peals of laughter. Rebecca and Georgie joined in, and even her Ma cracked a smile.

"It is a little odd, dear," Winifred admitted. "You've always been… well…" She trailed off, searching for the right word.

"An egghead?" Bucky offered, chortling. This sent both Georgie and Rebecca into a greater fit of laughter, and even though her Ma chastised him, he didn't look particularly abashed.

Wilma opened her mouth to retort hotly, and Steve, probably sensing danger, tried to change the topic.

"'Becca, how are things going at the school?" He asked in his quiet tone. But Rebecca waved him off, grinning.

"Wait, you haven't heard the best part yet!" She said.

"Oh, yeah?" Bucky's smile widened.

"You'll never believe who the guy was!" Georgie leaned in conspiratorially. "It was _Howard Stark!"_

She and Rebecca resumed their laughter, but Bucky stopped short, his grin fading. When he looked back at Wilma, his eyebrows were furrowed together in displeasure and there was a decidedly vexed frown on his face.

"Howard Stark?" He repeated. "Like the inventor?"

"I suppose," Wilma said, nonplussed. "Why?" One glance at Steve told her that he was just as confused as she felt.

"Will, you gotta be careful with Stark," Bucky said. "You can't fool around with him."

Wilma's jaw dropped with outrage. Rebecca and Georgie stopped laughing. Steve winced.

"James Buchanan Barnes, do not bring that kind of talk to the dinner table!" Winifred said sternly.

"I ain't foolin' around with anybody!" Wilma said furiously. "And you're one to talk, James Barnes!"

"I thought you liked Mr. Stark, Buck," Georgie said innocently. "You can't stop gushin' about his inventions."

"I like the man's inventions well enough," Bucky told her patiently. He turned to Wilma seriously. "But he's a skirt chaser, Will, everyone knows that."

"James Buchanan Barnes!" Winifred said. "None of that talk at my table!"

"Sorry, Ma, but it's true!" Bucky said. "Will, you gotta be careful."

Wilma threw her hands up in the air in frustration. "For cryin' out loud, Buck, I'm not messin' with him! Besides, you can't lecture me!" She knew she sounded a bit whiny, but she didn't care. "The way I've heard it, you're the most doll dizzy fellow in Brooklyn! Going dancing every night with a new dame—" She felt a burning sensation in her gut, and that was her cue to calm down before she blew a fuse.

"I just go dancing, Will, he takes 'em to bed!"

"James!" Their Ma said.

"I don't care, Buck! You don't get to tell me off! You're not my father!"

Everyone went silent at that. Wilma froze, hardly believing what she'd just said. Slowly, she glanced around the table.

Steve looked extremely uncomfortable, if a little sympathetic. He'd grown up an only child, but he'd spent so long with the Barnes siblings that he was all too familiar with their spats. Normally, he was quite good at mediating any conflicts between the four children. This time, however, Wilma had crossed an unspoken line by invoking their father. Steve probably had no idea what to do.

Georgiana looked equal parts upset and confused. She'd never met their father (which was something Wilma had always blamed herself for), so she never knew outside of stories what kind of man George Barnes was. Her hand was clasped tightly in Rebecca's.

Her elder sister looked stricken. There was no better word to describe it. In all their years of sharing a bed and whispering secrets in the dead of night, the topic of their father had always hung over them unspoken, unacknowledged, like a specter. Oh, there were portraits of their Dad on the mantle and his large overcoat was still hanging on the rack, but everyone tiptoed around the subject.

Bucky looked angry, and that sent a surge of annoyance racing through Wilma. He had no right, adopting some holier-than-thou attitude and lecturing her about guys! Not when he was the most notorious heartbreaker in Brooklyn. She felt the burning sensation rise in accordance with her emotions, and so she tore her gaze away from her brother and looked to her mother.

Her anger faded and immediately she felt a sharp stab of guilt.

Winifred had been so strong after George had died. She'd raised four young children mostly by herself, with the help of another single mother whose own child was often sickly and ill. She'd never remarried, despite the pressure she faced to find a fellow that would take care of her, because she believed the strength of a woman was not dependent on the presence of a man. But she'd loved her husband dearly, and having a reminder of his untimely demise hurled so harshly across the dinner table by her feuding children probably did nothing but deepen the pain.

"That's enough, both of you." Winifred said. Her voice was quiet but steady. "I think we should leave this conversation behind."

"Yes, Ma." Bucky murmured softly.

Wilma felt a lump form in her throat. "May I be excused, Ma?"

Winifred waved a tired hand, and Wilma jumped up quickly, clearing the table and rushing off to the room she shared with Georgie. She undressed and lay down, her mind spinning.

She'd been so excited to ask Howard Stark about Dr. Erskine. She'd read in the papers that he'd travelled to England once before the war in Europe, and she'd seen a photograph of him standing with the legendary chemist. Erskine was a brilliant scientist, and she'd only been anxious to learn more about his work.

But it had been more trouble than it was worth.

Sighing, Wilma closed her eyes. If she ever saw Howard Stark again, she told herself, she'd turn on her heel and walk the other way. Yes, even if her instincts were to strike up a conversation with him just to spite her brother.

For now, she just had to focus on her job and her science.

* * *

 **so a couple of things:**

 **immigrants... we get the job done (okay i had to i'm sorry i know i'm trash) but yeah, the barnes are immigrants, that's my story and i'm sticking with it.**

 **i am not jewish, which means my knowledge about the faith is limited. i just generally want to see more representation of all demographics (cause duh) so i put that into this story, but since i don't practice the religion i don't think it's my place to go into detail about it/make a commentary out of it/act as if i know much about abrahamic faiths (i am myself hindu, so like. literally have no idea about it). so that's where i'm at.**

 **i also don't ever intend to offend anybody and i try hard to keep everything i write about any marginalized group strictly celebratory of their cultures/ideas/beliefs/achievements/etc. that being said, i recognize that because i am not all of these demographics, there may be something problematic in my writing that i have missed or been unaware about. so if i have inadvertently done written something hurtful and offensive, please, please let me know and i will immediately fix it.**


	4. 4

_Brooklyn, May 1940_

It had taken Howard Stark all of two hours to notify his colleagues (okay, fine, superiors) at SSR that some random woman in Brooklyn was asking around about Dr. Erskine and must know he was in New York, and therefore was part of Hydra. He mentally applauded himself for his quick-witted response (Miss, the only doctor I know is the Dr. Moss who delivered me), and only hoped the Hydra agent bought it. Damn, and she had been pretty, too, before he realized she was a Nazi. That kind of made a person lose any ounce of attractiveness they possessed.

So he notified his superiors, and they decided to send an army colonel from DC and some lady agent all the way over from England. Once the two of them arrived, a few days after the incident, it took all of six hours to learn what they could about the woman.

"Wilhelmina Rosemary Barnes," Agent Carter said, eyebrows quirking up. "Born 13 March, 1922. She's only just eighteen." Yeah, Howard had been wondering about that, too. How the hell had Hydra gotten their nasty Nazi hands on a young American girl who'd lived her whole life in Brooklyn?

"That's one hell of a name," Colonel Phillips grunted.

"She goes by Wilma," Howard explained. "Her little sister called her Will."

"Her little sister," Colonel Phillips frowned, flipping through the pages in front of him. "That would be Georgiana, wouldn't it? Or is that Rebecca?"

"It's Georgiana," Howard confirmed. "Who's Rebecca?"

"Her elder sister," Agent Carter said briskly. "She also has an elder brother, James, whose birthday is just a few days before her own. The three girls live with their mother, Winifred. The father is deceased."

"Says here he died in a fire, a few months before the youngest was born," Colonel Phillips said.

"That's tragic," Howard said, wincing when he realized his tone was blithe and uncaring. Eh, the girl was a Nazi. She didn't deserve his respect or sympathy.

"You say she asked about Dr. Erskine?" Agent Carter said sharply.

"She said she 'had a theory,'" Howard said, "And then she asked me if I knew him." He sighed heavily. "She seemed to already know who he was."

"Well, that puts a wrench in things," Agent Carter's jaw worked.

Colonel Phillips let out a loud snort. "That's one way to put it. We're in deep shit."

Howard frowned. He didn't want to believe it. "What if she's genuinely interested in his work?" He put out hesitantly. "Is there a chance she isn't Hydra?"

"Of course there's a chance," Agent Carter said briskly, "But we can't take any chances. Not with this."

"But what if—"

"Ain't no 'if' about it. Clearly the girl knows." Colonel Phillips pointed out. "And other civilians don't. That's as close to confirmation as we can get."

Howard sighed again, rubbing his eyes. They were right, of course. They couldn't take any chances with Hydra, with Nazis, with Erskine's life. Wilma Barnes must somehow have been turned.

"So what do we do next?"

* * *

After the fight she'd had with her brother, Wilma managed to avoid Howard Stark for two weeks. 'Managed' was probably the wrong word, really. Stark was a billionaire inventor who was known equally for his flamboyant nature and genius mind. She was just Wilma Barnes, a young woman who worked as a lawyer's personal secretary in Brooklyn.

Wilma had figured she'd probably never see Howard Stark again. Oh, granted, she'd be among the crowds at his Expo, and she was sure she'd meet people that worked for him, but the chances of the two of them ever having another conversation again was low.

Which was… disappointing. Not because she was all dizzy over him (despite her jerk of a brother's insinuations), but because she was curious about his work. She might have known more than the average person about biochemistry, but Stark's innovative engineering quite escaped her. She would have liked to learn exactly what it was that he did.

So she resigned herself to the fact that her curiosity would never be satisfied and continued with her job as a legal secretary who was meant to sit there and and answer phone calls all damn day long. For two weeks, she fell back into her old routine, taking notes, answering phone calls, ignoring catcalls, answering more phone calls, taking more notes, and making follow up phone calls.

And then Howard Stark found her again.

She was walking home alone, later than usual—Georgie had finished school for the year, and Wilma took the opportunity to work extra hours so her Ma had more money to work with. It was getting dark out, but there was light enough still that Wilma could walk home without much cause for worry. In fact, she was only three blocks from her Ma's house when she heard a familiar voice call out to her from a dark side street.

"Miss Barnes?"

Wilma frowned, turning her head to peer into the dimly lit alley. "Mr. Stark? What on earth are you doing back there?"

Through the faint light and shadows, she could see Stark's eyes flitting about nervously. Suspicion rose in her chest. He looked… scared. What was wrong? Was he being threatened? Was he in danger? "Mr. Stark? Is everything okay?"

Against her better judgement, she took a step towards him, then another.

"I don't know," Howard Stark replied. The nervous look in his eyes melted as his face assumed a hard expression. His hesitant tone became more terse and demanding. "That depends on what you have to say."

Wilma's brows furrowed. "I'm not sure I understand what you—"

Something moved in the shadows behind Howard. Before Wilma could react, two figures jumped out at her. One stuck a syringe in her arm and she felt drowsiness settle over her, dulling the sting from the needle in her bicep. As the world blurred and faded around her, Wilma looked up at Stark, horrified.

What had he done? What was going to happen to her?

His cold, angry eyes were the last thing Wilma saw before a cloth sac was pulled over her head. The blindfolding was unnecessary. Her knees buckled with the force of the tranquilizer, and her mind spun as everything faded to black.

When she woke up again, she had no idea where she was. She groaned, trying to bring her hand up to massage her temples. Her right hand made it, but her left stopped abruptly a few inches from her face. As her disoriented mind began to sharpen once more, she realized she was sitting in a metal chair in a cold, dull room. Her arm was chained to a leg of the the table in front of her. Beyond that, a man was pacing the room.

He was tall, stern, and imposing. Even without the uniform, Wilma could tell he'd spent his life in the military. He was at the very least 60 years old. He had dark eyebrows and Wilma suspected that in his youth, his hair was even darker. Now, it was sprinkled with grey, lightening with age. His mouth was pressed in a thin line that told Wilma in no uncertain terms that he was not one to be trifled with.

The man stopped pacing as Wilma straightened up and groaned. He smiled at her, a cold, unforgiving smile that made her nervous.

"So you're awake," he said. "Time to start talking."


	5. 5

Wilma felt her hands begin to shake with fear as the stern older man fixed her with a hard gaze. She swallowed, once, twice, her throat dry. Her heart thumped madly in her chest.

Oh God, she was going to _die_.

"Let— let me go," she said quietly. She felt a little pathetic, but she was scared. She had no idea why she'd been taken.

"We can't do that," the man said casually. "Not until you give us some answers."

"Wh-where's Mr. Stark?" Wilma asked, her head spinning. She closed her eyes, trying to remember… he'd looked scared, and he'd… asked her for help? No, maybe she'd offered it? She couldn't remember. And then he'd… stood over her as something pricked her skin and everything went fuzzy… betrayal rushed through Wilma as she realized he'd tricked her. She swallowed, trying to fight the nausea that rolled in her stomach.

"Stark's just fine," the man shrugged. "I think he said he was going to go home. Something about a flying car."

"Please," Wilma whispered, feeling tears prick her eyes as her heartbeat began to accelerate, "My family… they're going to worry." She started tapping furiously against the desk with her fingers to try and calm herself down.

"I wouldn't count on it," the man—she still didn't know his name, she'd have to get it somehow—said. "As we speak, one of our agents is knocking on their door. He's telling them that you were working late and felt it was too dangerous to walk home at that hour. His story is that you will be spending the night at his sister's place. Clarissa Matthews, I believe. A friend of yours."

"Clarissa has a brother?" Wilma asked dumbly. Her fingers tapped away.

"No." The man replied. His eyes bore into her. "Now, tell me, Miss Barnes, how did Hydra recruit you?"

Wilma's fingers stilled. "What?"

"How did Hydra manage to get to a young woman who lived her whole life in Brooklyn?" The man asked. "What did they promise you? How did they contact you?"

"Sir," Wilma said slowly, brow furrowed, "I'm afraid you got the wrong gal. I've never even heard of Hydra before."

The man paused for a second, his jaw tight and his eyebrows pulled down. "Miss Barnes, do you know who I am?"

"Well… no, sir," she said hesitantly. "You never introduced yourself."

Clearly that wasn't the right thing to say. Wilma hadn't been trying to show disrespect in the slightest, but she realized belatedly that she must have. She cursed herself inwardly. She couldn't let her mouth run away from her like that. Especially when she was the one chained to a table in an undisclosed location.

The man scowled, unamused. "I am Colonel Chester Phillips of the United States Army. I have fought in two wars already, and chances are I'll be fighting in a third by Christmas. More relevantly, however, I am the director of the SSR. That is, as I'm sure you're aware, the Strategic Scientific Reserve." He paused significantly, as if that was supposed to mean something to Wilma. "I am no fool, Miss Barnes. Pretending you've never heard of Hydra is not going to work on me."

"It's the truth, sir!" Wilma insisted desperately. "And I've never heard of your SSR, either."

Colonel Phillips clearly didn't believe her. His jaw worked for a second, then he resumed pacing. "Wilhelmina Barnes, born on the thirteenth of March, nineteen-twenty-two. That makes you just barely eighteen years old. You have three siblings, an elder brother, an elder sister, and a younger sister. Their names are James, Rebecca, and Georgiana respectively. Georgiana is still in grade school. You live with your mother, Winifred Barnes, née Hubbard. Your father, George, died when you were four years old, in a house fire. You currently work for Lawrence Moore, a lawyer in Brooklyn, as his secretary, but your real passions are in the sciences, particularly in biology and chemistry and especially in their intersection. In grade school, you once broke your arm in a fight with another girl because she was laughing at your younger sister. You're closest with your elder sister, Rebecca, who is a teacher. Your brother James, more commonly known to friends and family as Bucky, just recently moved out of your childhood home and into an apartment two blocks away with his closest friend."

Wilma stared at Colonel Phillips in fright. "How do you…"

"We're an intelligence agency, Miss Barnes. We know almost everything about you. What we can't figure out is how Hydra got to you."

Wilma closed her eyes in frustration. "I keep telling you, I don't know what Hydra is!"

Colonel Phillips pursed his lips. "Okay." He got up and started walking towards the door in the corner.

"Wait," Wilma said fearfully, "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to get a snack," he said. "Looks like we're going to be here for a while."

And with that, he walked out of the dark room.

Wilma slumped forward, pressing her forehead against the metal table. It was cool against her skin, and it helped her to center herself and focus. She'd really never heard of this Strategic Scientific Reserve before, let alone whatever Hydra was. It seemed that for some reason, Colonel Phillips seemed to think she was one of them. Presumably, they were enemies to the SSR, and, she supposed, the US government (given that the Colonel was a member of the army). A cold shudder went through her. Did they think she was an enemy of the state? That she'd committed treason or some other such crime? What were they going to do to her?

God, she wished she'd never met Howard Stark. If she'd never run into him that day, she never would have stopped to see if he was okay. He wouldn't have betrayed her like that.

The door creaked open, and Wilma snapped her gaze up to meet Colonel Phillips'. As promised, he was holding a snack— a sandwich of sorts. This time, he was followed in by a younger woman, who was perhaps around Bucky's age. She was dressed in a uniform, a professional olive green skirt and jacket over a button down shirt and tie. Her hair was chestnut brown, with soft waves that grazed over her shoulder. Her eyes were sharp and clear, and her mouth, painted a bright red, was set in a straight, expressionless line as she sized Wilma up.

"This is Agent Carter," Colonel Phillips said. "She's a field agent in Great Britain. In case you haven't heard, there's a war going on in Europe, engineered by your bosses, and her people are paying the price. She would be all too happy to take you back to her side of the pond and let you face justice over there."

Neurons fired in Wilma's brain, and for a moment she thought she understood. Then her mind was overwhelmed with the questions she still had and the fear she still felt, and whatever revelation she'd just had disappeared in a flash.

"What crime do you believe I've committed, ma'am?" She asked, meeting Agent Carter's eyes.

The woman's face never wavered from its neutral expression. "Espionage, to start." She said in a clear voice. Her accent was a little jarring to Wilma, who was Brooklyn born and bred and hadn't heard any other kind of dialect except over the radio. "Treason against your country. Terrorism, if we find you've done anything to aid Hydra. After that… well, we'll see."

 _Espionage? Treason? Terrorism?_ God, what had she gotten herself into?

"I—" she bit her lip so hard that she tasted something metallic. "What is this about?" She asked desperately. "What did I do that put me on your radar?"

"You spoke with Howard Stark," Colonel Phillips said. He began pacing once more, and Wilma started to realize that it was a calculated move on his part, to seem intimidating and in control.

" _He_ spoke to _me_ ," she said defensively. "I was minding my own business." She narrowed her eyes. "He was listening in to a private conversation. Yes, I told him off, quite abruptly, but he deserved it. He butted into a conversation he had no part in."

"That's all well and good," Colonel Phillips said, "But I don't really care about the way you spoke to him. What matters is what you said."

"What I…" Wilma trailed off, brows furrowed in confusion. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Agent Carter shift curiously—the other woman was studying her still, but with more concern than anger now. It was almost as if the agent was starting to believe her.

Back to the matter at hand: what had she said to Howard Stark that would be so interesting to a secret scientific intelligence organization? _I have a theory… do you by any chance happen to know a Dr. Erskine?_

"Oh," she said in realization, "This is about Dr. Erskine."

Colonel Phillips placed his hands on the table, leaning forward intimidatingly. Wilma flinched, but remained where she was.

(She didn't have much of a choice. She was chained to the table).

With that thought, Wilma's terror faded into anger. How _dare_ they lock her up with no reason? How _dare_ they treat her like a criminal when she knew quite well she _wasn't_ a traitor? How _dare_ they let her think she was going to die for crimes she hadn't committed?

"What does Hydra know about him?" Colonel Phillips growled.

"I—I don't know anything about this _Hydra_ ," Wilma bit out, "But I know that Dr. Erskine is one of the most brilliant scientists of this era. His work on genetics is inspiring, leagues ahead of anyone else in the field."

"Why did you ask Howard Stark about him?" Agent Carter asked. "After all, Stark is known for mechanical engineering. Surely someone with as much scientific education as you knows that their areas of expertise are vastly different?"

"Well, sure," Wilma said slowly, irritation growing, "But I knew Stark had met Dr. Erskine."

"How?" Colonel Phillips pushed.

Wilma rolled her eyes angrily. " _Because_ ," she snapped, "There was a picture taken of the two of them at the 1938 conference in Paris. It was in all of the _damn_ academic journals. Other scientists, like Albert Einstein, J. D. Bernal, and Basil Frankenstein— who, by the way, is a Nazi now, so that's horrible—were in the photo, too."

"But you didn't ask about any of them," Colonel Phillips pointed out.

"Yeah, because I don't know _anything_ about general relativity, crystallography, or whatever it is that Frankenstein does to sew dead people together and bring them to life." Wilma gritted her teeth.

"Or," Colonel Phillips suggested, "It's because you're a member of Hydra and therefore most interested in Dr. Erskine."

"What on _Earth_ is Hydra?" Wilma asked in frustration, banging her fist against the table. Colonel Phillips fixed her with a stern look.

"I think you know—"

"It's the German equivalent of the SSR," Agent Carter said suddenly. Wilma's head snapped to face her. The other woman was staring at Wilma intensely, as if seeing her in a new light. "They're among Hitler's greatest assets. They're—"

"The Nazi science division," Wilma breathed out, sinking back in her chair. All at once, the fight left her body, leaving her completely exhausted. "You think—" she couldn't even finish her sentence. Instead, she started laughing hysterically, so hard that she barely noticed when they turned into harsh sobs. Her eyes wouldn't produce tears, but her body heaved and shuddered as she processed everything she'd just been through.

Finally, her laugh-sobs faded and she closed her eyes, slumping back.

"Something funny?" Colonel Phillips' voice said dryly.

"Yes, sir." Wilma sighed. "You think I'm a Nazi."

"Aren't you?" The colonel asked.

"No," Agent Carter's voice rang in the air. "We made a mistake. She quite clearly isn't."

"Not another word out of you, Agent." Phillips snapped. "Playing right into her hands—"

"She's not Hydra," Agent Carter insisted. Wilma would have felt grateful, but she wasn't exactly in a charitable mood, not when she'd been thrown in a cell, fearing for her _life_ because these people made a mistake.

"Yes, she is."

"I'm not a Nazi," Wilma spit out. The word sounded disgusting in her mouth. She opened her eyes. Both Agent Carter and Colonel Phillips, who had been staring each other down, turned their heads to look at her.

"How can we trust that?" Colonel Phillips said suspiciously.

"Because, _sir_ , my being a Nazi would be analogous to a black man joining the Klan."

The room went silent. So silent that Wilma could hear floorboards creaking outside the door. It would seem that some agents had been sent off to verify what she had said. Five minutes passed, but it felt more like an hour. At long last, the door opened and a young man poked his head in. Agent Carter and Colonel Phillips made their way over to him. The three whispered for a few seconds. Wilma couldn't hear them, but she knew what they were saying.

(If she wasn't so angry and scared, she would have found the way Colonel Phillips stiffened and Agent Carter slowly closed her eyes and winced _quite_ amusing.)

The man closed the door. The two agents turned to Wilma.

"You're…"

"Jewish. Yes." Wilma gritted her teeth. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to go home."

Colonel Phillips didn't look pleased, but Agent Carter slipped over to Wilma's side, fiddling with the chain until it clicked. Wilma pulled her wrist out of the loop, wincing as she rubbed the irritated skin. Without another word, she gathered her skirts and stood up, keeping her head up high even though she wanted to do nothing more than curl up and cry. She walked over to the door and pulled it open.

Standing right in front of her, hand hovering out as if reaching out to grab the door handle, was Howard Stark.

Wilma couldn't see the expression on his face, partly because the hall was dimly lit and partly because she looked down the moment she recognized him. Fury and resentment built up in her chest.

"What's the way out?" She asked in a clipped tone, her eyes fixed on a point just over his shoulder.

"Uh—" Howard shifted his weight. "Left at the end of the hall, straight through the double doors. Look, Wilma—"

Wilma didn't stick around to listen. She shoved past him and marched down the hallway, pausing just before she turned. She didn't look back. She didn't think she could without bursting into tears.

" I thought you needed help, and I wanted to help you. I trusted you, Mr. Stark."

With that, she turned on her heel and stalked away, out of the double doors and into the morning light.

And Howard Stark stared after her, a knot forming in his stomach.


End file.
